April 3
I'm just a little too happy in this photograph, and Nicole's hand is just a little too small..hmmm
Thing Learned About Self on Friday Night: If You Call Me a Chicken, I Lose My Mind:
Usually, you can tell that the evening is going to get interesting when I've had enough to drink that I start dancing. Friday night, after arriving in Boston, checking into the hotel, eating something, calling some friends and doing some shopping, we hopped into a cab and headed for a bar in Cambridge to wait for Molly and Chris. While waiting, Nicole was hit on by some guy who's name I don't recall, but who's conversation went a little something like:
I erased the picture I took of him grabbing his crotch, as tempting as I'm sure it is.
Him : So, like, you two need to go back to your hotel and do eachother and show your tits and make out and get it on video and send it to me.
Us: Uhh..right on it, buddy.
And have you ever had to meet someone who you don't know, so you don't know who you're looking for? That was the case with Molly. Every time a woman walked in the door and looked around, I was convinced it was her. At about 9:15, Nicole started in with the "you have no freeeiiiinnnddsss and you got stood uppppp!" I was already half cocked, so really was pretty mellow and indifferent towards the whole thing. When she finally walked in, followed almost immediately by Chris, I reversed my opinion about being indifferent and was all thrilled and self-validated about myself and how cool I am. Moving along.
Molly & I. This is long before I started drinking vodka..
Okay, so all of the pictures I took of other people are fine, as opposed to the ones I took of myself.
I'm either trying to look all sassy or all pissed off, though it's hard to be macho wearing a green watch.
You'll notice that when I got drunk, the photos turned into bits and pieces of faces:
It was all kinds of cool to meet Molly. I think I was too drunk to tell if she was charmed by my shenanigans or not, but I'm pretty sure it was good.
When they started in with the 80's music, I was more than drunk enough to dance. And dance I did. As did Molly. Chris and Nicole did not. I came back to the bar. I heard myself say "Let's do SHOTS!" Oh yeah. We left when the place closed at 2, and that's when I came up with my catchphrase of the weekend:
Probably the room service people would beg to differ. When we got back to the hotel I insisted that there was nothing in the world I needed or wanted more than a pizza, some fried calamari and a bottle of champagne. Nicole had the good looking out skills to notice that the champagne was 50 dollars and called back to cancel it. Unfortunately, she didn't cancel the meal (Me: "I'm HUNGRY, motherfucker!" ) and we woke that morning to one hell of a pissed off message from the room service people.
Saturday:
I also woke that morning in a bed full of puke. Yup. It was like being a rock star without the groupies. I was ripping hungover, smelled absolutely vile and was mostly naked. I staggered to the shower and looked in the mirror. Big fucking mistake. My hair was absolutely caked with green shit (lettuce, from my dinner of Caesar's salad the previous evening). I got into the shower and did my best to wash it out. Not easy. I wrapped myself in a towel and got back into bed, where I stayed until about 1:00 ("Wait...why don't any of these people know that Steve Urkel and Stephan Urkel are the same person?" was about the extent of my mental ability) when Nicole insisted we get up and go out. I had one last restorative puke, and off we went.
BIG fucking mistake. Oh, my god. I staggered around all day, puke barely held down until I was finally able to go back to the hotel to lie down. Nicole's friends managed to get reservations at the same hotel and she took off to hang out with them. Luckily, I kept my clothes on because they all came on in and hopped onto the bed. It was at that point, I came up with my second catchphrase of the weekend:
That was the standard reply to everything, because, as it quickly became apparent, they (being Cheesy and Schulman [note: they pronounce it "Shaman", so I was reading all kinds of meaning into his name that just wasn't there.]) were all about partying. Schulman, for those of you keeping track, was the Chewbacca Planet Guy from Nicole's Christmas party. Anyhow, they are Beavis and Butthead, but louder and I was all set to go out and start breaking up fights. After all, how will there not be a fight when you have two guys who yell "GODZIRRA!" every time an Asian person walks by?
We go from bar to bar trying to find one that didn't suck (we were by Quincy Market, they ALL kinda sucked). The thing about doing that is as follows: If you go to 10 shitty bars and have a drink in each shitty bar, even though the bar is shitty, the alcohol is still potent and it will still get you drunk. By the time we settled into this truly retarded club IN Quincy Market, the three of them were pretty well lit and I was The Voice Of Reason, as totally wrong as that seems.
The funny thing about Boston and the guys in Boston is that they do not seem to give a shit about wedding rings. I always go under the assumption that people aren't going to mess with me or talk to me because I'm wearing a wedding band, and that should be the glowing 'I'm taken, Motherfucker!' symbol to potential suiters. No, no no. That is not the case. Apparently, a wedding ring is more of a SUGGESTION of marriage than anything else. Its read as: "Okay, I'm married, but I'd love for you to hit on me anyhow!" Which is exactly what happened at the White Boys Shouldn't Dance dance club.
I'm not about dancing when I'm sober, but when I watched these people getting down, I was like "there is no possible way I could look stupider then any of these people" and off I went. As it got later and later, I noticed some little troll of a dude staring at me. He moved in for the kill, standing between Nicole and I. He leaned into me "Am I cool enough to join your party?" Nicole TOOK OFF with Schulman, dancing. Cheesy was getting another drink. I was like "Nope.." and walked away. Not to be dissuaded, he moved to Nicole, which started a potential fight. It all settled down to him begging me to dance with him and Cheesy having to tell him that I was his fiancee and that he didn't want me dancing with anyone.
The guy looked from Cheesy to me and was all like "But whyyyyy?" I say "Because he is my MAN and I LOVE HIMMMM." Eventually, he found someone to dance with and left us the fuck alone. Then came 2:00.
2:00 during Daylight Savings. Imagine, hundreds of drunk people wandering the streets of Boston yelling because they didn't get an extra hour of drinking. No one got it, at all.
Nicole: But why did they kick us out early??
Dana: Honey, it's 2:00, the bars close at 2!
Nicole: But we got an extra HOUR!
Dana: No, add an hour to 2! Now it's three!
Nicole: No, it's not! We should have gotten an hour! The bars should still be open! I want to PARTTTYYYY!
Dana: But, it's 2:00...
Nicole: Yeah! So, why aren't they open?
Dana: Because they close at 2...
Nicole: Exactly!I realized then the logic I was dealing with was about what Nicole had to deal with on Friday (Nicole: Dana, we need to walk around the block to catch a cab! Me: No we don't, motherfucker! It will come to me!) so simply walked on without trying to make it make sense.
Cheesy goes from calm to engorged with rage in a matter of seconds. In about a 3 block span, he went from screaming "GET FUCKED UP" at the top of his lungs to absolutely dead angry "give me something to BREAK!" So, I'm not saying that anything illegal happened or anything, but if you were in Boston this weekend and something happened to your car, well, sorry.
We're a block from the hotel when Schulman asks "Where are we going? Where's the hotel?" I point to the next block, where the awning is clearly visible. "Right there." Nicole turns around "That's not the hotel!" I look at her. "Yeah it is!" "No it's NOT!" By this time, we're to the door. "Yeah it is!" They look up. "Oh YEAH, it is!"
The Wyndham Boston:
These people have to fucking HATE priceline.com. Good lord. There was not a single normal person in that place. Nicole and I go to our room so that she can put on her pajamas and we go off to the 4th floor to hang out with Cheesy and Schulman in their room.
I've neglected to mention that Cheesy was bleeding. I'm not going to say why he was bleeding, just that he was. I went back to our room to get bandages. I get to the elevator, and there's a guy standing there smoking a cigarette, crying. Yep.
We order a pizza. Schulman goes to the lobby to get it, and comes running back: "There's a fucking passed out guy in the hall!" We go running off to look. Sure enough, it's the Crying Guy. Nicole goes over and tries to get him up. Nope.
Back to the room. We order a movie (American Beauty) and settle in to watch. By the time it all got going, I'm the only one awake. At 5:30, I head back to our room. The passed out Crying Guy is gone, and in his place is a huge puddle of vomit. I get into the elevator. Vomit. I get to my floor. There are people screaming and chasing eachother around and women in their underwear and guys with water pistols.
Everyone in the place was drunk. It made me feel less bad about puking in the bed.
I only stopped being hung over this morning. Yep, I drank that much. I can't wait to go back. It might have to wait until after Spain. More about that tomorrow.
Looky What I Bought:
I am about the unclassiest person to ever walk along this earth.
the other day/home/email/tomorrow
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too nearyour slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first roseor if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour or its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small handee cummings
